


Just Keep Writing

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-30
Updated: 2006-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:44:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written with <span><a href="http://naughtylaundry.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://naughtylaundry.livejournal.com/"><b>naughtylaundry</b></a></span>; she  wrote as Pete. I wrote as Patrick.</p><p><i><b>kalyn</b>: haha, oh you silly wentz<br/><b>marie</b>: wouldnt it be too weird if he WROTE stuff<br/><b>marie</b>: oh my gosh Im laughing so bad<br/><b>kalyn</b>: bahaha if he wrote a slash I'd pee my pants<br/><b>marie</b>: I'd ROLLLL<br/><b>marie</b>: man!<br/><b>kalyn</b>: most defintely<br/><b>marie</b>: and he would be good at it too<br/><b>marie</b>: lmao...he might be ALREADY doing it<br/><b>marie</b>: jeez under a funny name<br/><b>kalyn</b>: haha, that'd kill me. Just imagine, jeezzzz<br/><b>kalyn</b>: he'd be the one with the best sex scenes<br/><b>marie</b>: jesus kalyn<br/><b>marie</b>: i fell off the chair....</i>
<br/></p>
    </blockquote>





	Just Keep Writing

**Author's Note:**

> Written with [](http://naughtylaundry.livejournal.com/profile)[**naughtylaundry**](http://naughtylaundry.livejournal.com/) ; she wrote as Pete. I wrote as Patrick.
> 
>  _ **kalyn** : haha, oh you silly wentz  
>  **marie** : wouldnt it be too weird if he WROTE stuff  
>  **marie** : oh my gosh Im laughing so bad  
>  **kalyn** : bahaha if he wrote a slash I'd pee my pants  
>  **marie** : I'd ROLLLL  
>  **marie** : man!  
>  **kalyn** : most defintely  
>  **marie** : and he would be good at it too  
>  **marie** : lmao...he might be ALREADY doing it  
>  **marie** : jeez under a funny name  
>  **kalyn** : haha, that'd kill me. Just imagine, jeezzzz  
>  **kalyn** : he'd be the one with the best sex scenes  
>  **marie** : jesus kalyn  
>  **marie** : i fell off the chair...._   
> 

**Pete**

So, I clicked the link in my email and it brought me here, to the PatrickxPeter slash writing community on Livejournal.

 _What the hell?_

 _Who sent me this?_

This whole community is about me and Patrick being together, and… _doing things._

I click one of the stories out of curiosity, you know, just to see what the hype is… that's _it._

Wow.

Now that was some seriously good shit.

I've gotta read another; these kids are intense. So I've read another, and _another_....aaaaand now I've lost count of how many I've read up to now. But I'm like reading like a fiend and I just can't quit.

Maybe I should write one of these. I mean… I _am_ the one obsessed with Patrick, and who's to say since I can't get any in real life, I can't have it in a story?

Hmmm, I think I will… let's see...I guess I need to make an account on here so I can write it. Blah, blah, personal info... Um, username? I'm so lame at making usernames.

 _morrissey_is_love_... I guess that'll do.

Now, let's write a story!.. _.Patrick was lying on Pete's bed with that hungry look in his eyes…_

 **Patrick**

Jesus.

As usual, Pete used all the hot water. I can never beat him in a race for the shower. He's all these bony limbs that he uses (unfairly) and I end up beating on the door and listening to him gargle out show-tunes. Fucker.

When I finally get my turn (ugh, _cold_ ) and go back out into the hotel room in my nice clean boxers and ok-clean jeans, that hot-water thief is sitting on one of the double-beds, the laptop balancing on his knobby knees, internet cables snaking across the room, and he's typing so fast. And non-stop.

Wait.

If he's having like one of those internet conversation thingies, then he would stop and wait for a response, right? But no; its like he's....writing something. Like some lyrics.

The thing about it is, that Pete doesn't _write_ lyrics on the laptop. He uses his notebook and some pencils with bite-marks all over. So what could he be doing?

"Pete," I say, throwing the towel I had over my shoulder and pulling on my t-shirt. "Hey, Pete. The fuck are you doing, man?"

 **Pete**

Um, _tiny_ dilemma.

You see, here I am typing this story, which is getting rather hot and heavy by the way, and I forgot that Patrick was taking a shower. Soooo … now he's out of the shower and asking why I'm typing away on my laptop.

I think I may be in for it.

"Oh, I'm just writing some emails...you know, just touching base with a few people," I say, hoping that it was believable enough. I have the hardest time lying to Patrick, (probably because I'm in love with him)…or maybe I just suck at lying….

"Pete. You don't _do_ emails."

"Says who?"

"Says _you_!"

Uh oh.

I better finish this in a hurry or I'm done for. Just a few more lines.

"Peter Wentz! You've got about 5 seconds to tell me what it is you're doing before I snatch that laptop from you and find out for _myself_."

Oh man, he's cranky... this could get ugly.

I. Must. Finish.

"Pete!"

Oh fuck, he's tackling me….

 **Patrick**

Emails?

Come the fuck on.

He's the very one that told me so, too: _I don't do emails, kid. Too slow_.

And he's hiding what he's writing? What the fuck?

Ok, and now he's trying to close the laptop, kick at me as I'm reaching for him, and run away at the same time. I am so fucking curious I'm just about to burst. I'm mad too, cause since when he hides stuff from me? So I immobilise the bastard.

Kick him in the balls. Painful and immediate.

He'll get over it. I grab the laptop from his weak arms as he's doubled over, pull out all the cables rapidly and dash to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I hear him hollering at me through the door, but I ignore him, sitting on the closed toilet and opening the laptop. It brightens up out of the hibernation it went into when he closed it, and all the windows are still up.... _morrissey_is_love_...oh, _please_ , Pete.

Oh.

My.

Ok. _When_ did Pete find out how into him I am? I always was. From the moment he came to my door and tried hard not to laugh at my sweater. And....ok, from reading this, apparently Pete wants _into_ me.

Oh jeez.

He's a great writer. No doubt about it. Very descriptive. Uhm...he wrote about my _thighs_. And leaving marks on the _insides_ of them.

Great.

Now I'm turned on.

 **Pete**

Holy shit that bastard kicked me in the nuts and stole my laptop!

Since when is he so violent?

So, now here I am beating on the bathroom door pleading for him to give me back the laptop. I mean, he CAN'T read that story. He'd kill me… with his bare hands.

"Patrick! Give it back! It's not yours!"

There's no answer. What if he's reading it? He better not, if he reads the part about me "biting the soft flesh of his milky thighs", I'll just die; no, _really_ , I'll drop dead from embarrassment right where I stand.

"PATRICK! GIVE IT BACK, YOU ASS!" I yell, pounding on the door harder. I'm getting pretty desperate.

I hear a gasp, and then a loud _thunk_ from the other side of the door.

He read it. I know it. _Shit_.

I back away from the door slowly, my mind whirring into overtime trying to find a perfectly legit reason for that story.

 _Yeah_ , I've got nothing…

The door opens slowly and I'm cringing. He's _so_ about to castrate me with the first blunt object he sees.

I look up and he's standing in the doorway looking at me, his face totally devoid of emotion.

"Patrick, I just… I uhhh-"

Stop. Is he looking at me with a hungry look in his eyes?

Oooh. Damn.

 **Patrick**

What?

So I kiss him. That's what he wants, right? I mean. He _wrote_ about it. He should know.

He actually _shrunk back_ when I opened the bathroom door two minutes ago, and his face was just full of embarrassment, and that was one first for me, because I've never seen Pete embarrassed before.

The _second_ first for me (can there be like "second firsts"? Cause that sorta makes no sense) is that I kissed him.

I'm kissing Pete.

He froze for a couple of heartbeats, breathing harshly through his nose as I put my hands up and link them gently around his neck.

And now he's kissing me back.

Okay, so he writes the truth. He kisses well. _Really_ well. Like with searching tongue and gentle teeth, and even these low moans, and he's pressing up against me. And his hands are on my back. Backing me. Towards the bed.

I break the kiss for a moment.

"Look," I say, and the edge of the bed is pressed at the back of my knees, and Pete is all hard-pressed against all the front of me. "Look, just...ok, you can do what you wrote about. I want you to. Okay?"

His eyebrows raise up so high I swear they're touching his hairline.

"Okay," he whispers shakily, and that's a third first: I'm making Peter Wentz Whisper in A Shaky Manner.

Awesome.

 **Pete**

Hold up. Rewind.

Patrick came out of the bathroom and instead of killing me, he _kissed_ me! I mean, one of those toe-curling, porn-quality kisses too.

Now I've backed him into the bed and he's telling me he wants me to do to him what I wrote in that story. Who said dreams don't come true? Holy _shit_. I can't even find my voice at this moment; I'm so turned on by the fact that this boy who I've wanted forever wants me to fuck him senseless.

There's a soft _flump_ as I push him down onto the mattress and he's smiling, his eyes looking deep into mine.

Holy shit. I can't breathe.

I reach for the button of his jeans and pop it open, then slide down the zipper. He's still looking at me with that smile and I can hear my heart beating in my ears as I slide down his jeans.

Patrick has already slipped off his shirt, leaving him lying there on the bed in just his boxers.

I take a deep breath and take off my own clothes so that I'm in the same state.

Is this really happening?

I stand there for a minute, my mind has turned to jelly and I just can't think.

 _God, I want this so bad._

"Pete," he says, sitting up a little. "It's ok. I want this, and I _know_ you do... so come _on_ , Wentz. I want it. Just like the story."

"You got it."

Just like the story, eh? I'll give it to him a hundred times over.

I slip down his boxers and pause for a moment; good god, this boy is packing some equipment. But it's those thighs I want. I grip them tightly and I feel him writhe under the touch.

I take one last look up at him, and I see a certain fire in his eyes that I've never seen before and I can feel myself throbbing. I begin to kiss the insides of those beautiful porcelain thighs and I hear him moan. I'll take that as my cue. I sink my teeth slightly into his flesh and suck at his skin, listening as his moan turns into a growl.

Oh, Patrick. I'm just getting started.

 **Patrick**

Yeah, so I might as well hang a sign on my forehead now that reads: _Brain Broke. Sorry for the Inconvenience._

He's biting a little and sucking, and I'm positive there are going to be massive marks tomorrow, because I bruise pretty easily. And it hurts a little, but it hurts so _good_ , you know? I don't think I can be any harder. Okay. One of his hands is gripping its way up my thigh (my _porcelain_ thigh, I think is what I read), and now it's brushing against me.

And now he's holding onto me, lightly and rolling his hand up and down slowly, and apparently I could get harder. I didn't realise. I can't look away from his face, because while he's doing all that hot craziness, sometimes he glances up and grins a little. It's a grin that's cocky and a little amazed, like he can't believe he's _doing_ this, but he's gonna _do it_ and do it _good_ , dammit, and I'm sorta hoping that he's not going to grin like that all the way through, because I don't think I can stand it.

And now he's licking his way up, and his body is following, snaking behind, and I can feel his hardness stroking up with him underneath his boxers against my skin, and okay, _why_ is he still in his boxers? Not fair. So I sit up, and I help him out of them. You know. For parity, and all. And he's still holding on to me. Tighter now.

"Look," he says, breathing sharply as we lie back down, him falling between my infamous thighs and I don't think he should be _talking_ right now, not when we're like this, all pressed against each other, and grinding. "Tell me something. Have you _done_ this before?"

Come _on_ , Pete. Not _now_. But he's looking at me, his eyes intent and his hips are pressing out and in, and I swear, it's making me talk.

"I have, sorta," I gasp out, and he presses in again, sliding harder, smiling a little, incredulous but still intent. "But not the way you wrote about it."

"I didn't think so," he growls out, kisses me again, both his hands now pressing me down by my shoulders. He pulls back, and now his smile is softer. "But we can't do _all_ I wrote about...I mean, we're not _prepared_ , and all."

That's fine by me, I think, and I tell him so. We can do that some other time. For now, all this stroking against each other is more than enough. And there he goes again, _talking_ , and the sound of his voice, husky and low, is sliding against my eardrums and shimmering its way all through my body.

"I can't tell you how long I've wanted you. Since it was illegal, I think."

"I know, I know," I return, a little impatiently, because he's driving me crazy. "I read about it somewhere."

He laughs a little, breathlessly. And oh, _god_. He's holding onto me again.

 **Pete**

You have no idea how good he feels against my skin.

I’m letting my hands roam every inch of his soft body while his hands stroke me in return. Those hands feel just as I always imagined and I can barely contain myself, I want to give it to him hard, fast, and rough, but not yet, he’s not ready for that.

But I have a feeling that time is coming soon. I _could_ write a story about it.

He’s lying on the bed with me on top, hips grinding together and I can’t help but smirk as I watch his eyes roll into his head as he gasps for breath.

That’s right Patrick. Wentz has _got_ you now.

In a swift movement he grasps me hard and begins to stroke me slowly, his thumb tracing circles over my tip.

Whoa, where’d he learn that?

He opens his eyes and gives me one of those infamous Patrick Smirks and I about lose it _right there_ ; but I hold on tight. I’m not losing it unless he loses it with me.

I grip him and match his rhythm and his breathing shallows, I breathe in sharply because I can feel it coming, and the look on his face tells me he’s just as close.

“Come for me Patrick,” I whisper heavily in his ear.

“I..I...ooooohhhhh…..”

Patrick starts to cry out and tremble and I feel him splash all down my front.

 _Ohhh yessss._

I let go into Patrick’s hand, growling into his ear while I do so. I let my weight sag onto him for a moment before I roll to his side and pull his face to mine.

“You’re everything I ever imagined,” I whisper to him. We’re so close my lips brush against his as I speak.

“Pete. I’ve _always_ wanted you.”

“Then what the hell were we waiting for?”

He laughs softly and I press my lips firmly to his, and snake my arms around his waist, letting our bodies conform to each other in the sweetest of ways.

It’s not every day a Wentz’s daydreams come true.

But I'll keep on writing. Give him some ideas.


End file.
